


Seeing Red

by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Fights, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Prohibition, Rescue, Sharing a Bed, Smuggling, speakeasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 15:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12844341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles/pseuds/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles
Summary: The Inception team runs a popular speakeasy, and Arthur and Eames are the two runners who keep the bar stocked with illegal alcohol. One night when Arthur fails to show up after leaving to complete another run, Eames gets worried and goes after him. When he finds Arthur wounded in an alley being attacked by three thugs, Eames sees red.





	Seeing Red

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: When I was going through my folder of stories organizing what had been posted and what was a WIP I could potentially pick up again, this was another story I discovered that I wrote and never posted. It was written March 2012 and although I don't know how many people read Inception fics anymore, I hope a few people enjoy the story :)
> 
> The "graphic depiction of violence" warning is for the gun/knife/fist fight that takes place.

Eames fidgeted with the empty glass in his hand, listening to it clatter to a standstill on the polished wood of the bar surface each time he spun it. His eyes were fixed on the wall phone behind the bar, silently begging it to ring.

 

Please ring.

 

Please?

 

“Tell me I’m worrying over nothing, Yusuf,” Eames requested tersely, allowing the man to snatch the glass away before it tumbled to the floor and broke.

 

There was a moment of silence between them, though the rest of the underground speakeasy was in full swing around them. Dom was busy chatting up high-roller guests with a smile that only spoke of distress to those who knew him well. Mal was up on the tiny stage with her piano, mesmerizing the patrons of the bar more effectively than the alcohol in their veins. Ariadne was wandering around the room serving drinks but continued to send noticeable glances back at Eames and the silent phone.

 

“Yusuf?” Eames prompted the barman, feeling his anxiety mount when his friend didn’t immediately reassure him.

 

“Well... Arthur is never late.” Yusuf bit his lip nervously, barely paying attention to the drink he was mixing for a surprisingly polite drunk who was leaning heavily on the bar.

 

Eames and Yusuf both glanced at the large clock on the wall in unison. Arthur was fourteen minutes late. “Fuck,” Eames whispered as he pushed himself off his bar stool and headed for one of the back rooms Dom had set up for himself and the other workers of the speakeasy. As the heavy wooden door closed behind him and the noise of the high-end but still rowdy bar faded away, a tense silence wrapped around him. Eames hurriedly pulled his woolen overcoat around his shoulders to combat the winter air outside and, after checking to confirm it was loaded, slid his revolver into his pocket.

 

Dom caught his eye on his way across the bar, giving him a small nod of approval before Eames slipped out through the exit. Eames had begged Arthur to let him help on the run but the other man had insisted on doing it alone. Granted, there were only six crates to deal with, which could easily be handled alone. But Arthur’s stubbornness was, in Eames’ opinion, just for the sake of being difficult.

 

The cold air hit his face in an icy blast that had his eyes burning as Eames slipped out the back door of what appeared to be a humble barber shop. He knew the route Arthur had been planning to take when bringing the alcohol back, as well as the pickup location; Dom always made sure to verify plans before sending them out to make a collection. Luckily the pickup point wasn’t terribly far away – their new stock coming from a local brewer who had money troubles – so Eames decided to run the route. He was worried about missing something if he took the car.

 

His feet sunk down into snow that clung to his shoes and pants, weighing him down as the wind buffered him violently. Eames wished he had grabbed a hat but had been unwilling to spare the extra time before rushing out in search of Arthur. He and Arthur were the best pair of collectors for bootleggers like Dom in town – not that anyone would know them by name since their business wasn’t strictly speaking legal. Eames could talk himself in or out of any situation, and Arthur’s planning skills and aim with a gun were awe-inspiring.

 

Eames could only fear what might have gone wrong tonight, what would have kept Arthur from arriving back at the speakeasy with the goods, or at least from finding a safe hideaway to call and update them. The many possibilities swirled through Eames like a whirlwind, dread cutting into him like airborne icicles. Eames began running faster, clenching and unclenching his fists both to relieve some tension and to keep them limber in case he needed to use his gun in a hurry. He knew that Arthur would scoff and laugh at him if there had just been a simple delay but Eames didn’t care. He was willing to sacrifice his pride to ensure Arthur was safe.

 

He knew he was approaching the pickup point and ducked into an alley to cut down on travel time. But when his eyes focused enough to make out the scene in the dim gloom of the alley, Eames saw red. He could see Arthur’s car parked on the road on the far end of the alley, which probably crossed the length of a city block. The car was still running, engine growling as exhaust tumbled out of the back, but Arthur was not in the driver’s seat. Instead, Arthur was on the snowy ground of the alley, curled up and trying to protect his vital organs as some guy kicked at his stomach hard.

 

Eames drew his gun in a flash as he began running, working on automatic as he clicked the safety off and aimed. The details of the alley assaulted his senses in a rush, but instead of causing him to stumble, they focused him as he barrelled towards the fray. He could see that two large men were already sprawled out in the alley near the fight, dead with one precisely-aimed bullet hole in each of their foreheads. The other three guys standing around Arthur also appeared to have taken some damage, one guy holding a bleeding arm while another was attempting to find some balance that would keep his excessive weight off a shot thigh.

 

Unfortunately five to one wasn’t good odds and despite Arthur’s clear skill at handling himself, he had been overrun. “Leave him alone!” Eames shouted out hoarsely to draw attention away from Arthur, his voice echoing off the narrow brick walls of the alley.

 

All three men turned away from Arthur to focus their rage on Eames, but Eames’ rage was far sharper, far deadlier than theirs. He kept running as he aimed and shot another man in the head, hearing the muffled thud of his body collapsing into a pile of drifted snow. By that point he was too close to the others to land a proper shot and used his momentum to slam his shoulder into the chest of the man who had been kicking Arthur.

 

Eames got him knocked back a few feet away from Arthur and then aimed his gun again, but the other remaining attacker slammed into him in a similar fashion, causing Eames’ shot to arc wide and ricochet uselessly off the opposite brick wall. Eames felt the air knocked out of him as he was slammed against the brick wall behind him, his head cracking against the brick and leaving him a little dazed.

 

A groan from nearby – Arthur – forced him to focus though and Eames leaned away to avoid a punch to the face. His assailant cursed furiously and, based on the sound of his fist hitting the brick, Eames would suggest he was suffering a few broken bones. Eames used this opportunity to shove the man away and land his own solid punch to the man’s face, hearing a satisfying crunch of the man’s nose breaking as he fell backwards to the snow.

 

The other attacker, having recovered from Eames’ tackle, rushed in and got Eames crowded up against the wall again. Eames cursed as the man twisted his wrist painfully, causing his gun to fall silently into a pile of snow. He did his best to weather the man’s raining blows to his body, knowing he would have terrible bruises across his face, chest and stomach the next few weeks. It took a few seconds and a few sharp waves of pain from punches before the man grew overconfident, but Eames was ready. He twisted viciously and hooked his knee up between his attacker’s legs, using their position against the man.

 

The man gave a grunt that sounded close to a sob as the air left his body and he crumpled to the ground. Eames, hands shaking with adrenaline, reached down and grappled for his gun frantically, searching for it in the snow. His fingers brushed biting cold metal and he fumbled to aim his gun again, his fingers nearly numb with the cold. Eames spun on his heel and levelled his gun at the man who was still crumpled on the ground, his legs pressed tightly together in pain. “Who sent you?” he asked quietly, suddenly worried about catching the attention of some nosy passers-by. The man didn’t respond and Eames gave a quick jab to the man’s side with his shoe. “ _Who_?”

 

A gunshot echoed around the alley, causing Eames’ ears to ring and his awareness to swim while momentarily stunned. He looked around hurriedly after doing a mental check to ensure that he had not been the one who was shot, just in time to see the attacker with the broken nose tumble to the ground. He had been holding a gun in his non-injured hand, which had been pointed at Eames’ unaware head, but it was the attacker who had the bleeding head wound as he fell to the snow, eyes vacant.

 

Breathing hard, Eames glanced around and saw Arthur standing in the alley a few feet away, one bloodied arm wrapped around his middle while the other was held aloft, still holding Arthur’s aimed gun of choice. “Eames...” Arthur began, sounding somewhat confused about his sudden presence in the alley. But before the other man could speak further, Arthur’s brown eyes rolled into the back of his head right before he collapsed limply to the snow.

 

“ _Arthur_!” he yelled, though his voice was drowned out by the echoing bang of another gun being fired, startling Eames badly enough that he thought he might have a heart attack. He looked around hurriedly, again almost disbelieving when he realized he hadn’t been shot. It took him only a second to notice the final attacker on the ground, blood pooling across the snow after the man ended his own life before giving away information. Eames was furious but didn’t have time to think about it, instead pocketing his own revolver again before rushing over to Arthur’s side.

 

Arthur was curled up in a pile of snow, his clothing soaked with melted and bloodstained snow. “Arthur?” Eames whispered fearfully, rolling the other man onto his back to search for damage. “ _Fuck_!” he cursed quietly when he noticed blood blooming from a wound on Arthur’s stomach, his anxiety doubled by the fact that Arthur didn’t respond to his voice. “ _Arthur_!” Eames’ heart was clenching painfully, his stomach feeling sick with fear. His eyes stung with tears as he considered the horrifying though that he might have lost Arthur. Never again would he hear the man’s voice, see that unwilling but powerful smile.

 

Dark lashes fluttered open as Arthur groaned and focused blurry brown eyes on him. “Eames..?” the man said softly, blinking up at him and looking incredibly tired. Bruises littered Arthur’s face, one gash across his left temple, and Eames had no doubt that there would be many more beneath the man’s ruined suit, “I’m so cold...”

 

“Shh, darling, it’s alright,” Eames cooed quietly, petting Arthur’s soft black hair aside and noticing that it was slightly wet from melted snow. His whole body nearly collapsed with its relief, though his heart didn’t return to a normal pace as he stared down at the bleeding man. “I’m here now. Everything’s going to be alright.”

 

Arthur gave a weak whine in the back of his throat and leaned up into Eames’ caress even as he curled his body in on himself further. Eames noticed the other man still clutching his stomach with a bloodied arm and felt his heart skip a sickening beat as Arthur whispered, “Liar.”

 

Eames moved down Arthur’s body and pushed the fabric of his coat aside, working on the bottom buttons of Arthur’s formerly-white shirt. He noticed Arthur’s eyes drifting closed again as Eames carefully moved the man’s arm aside. “Stay with me, love,” he pleaded worriedly, cursing his trembling fingers as they fumbled with the slick, wet buttons. When he finally got Arthur’s shirt pried open and pulled far enough out of his pants, Eames gave a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god,” he whispered into the air, seeing that they were only dealing with a shallow knife wound. Granted, that wasn’t exactly something to be happy about, but it was much less serious than a stab or gunshot wound.

 

“Why the fuck are you thanking him?” Arthur muttered, breathing shallowly as he shivered in the bloodstained snow. “Didn’t know you...wanted me dead.”

 

“You’re not dying,” Eames assured Arthur with a weak chuckle, feeling the cold wind bring attention to the tears of relief staining his cheeks. “Come on, darling,” Eames hummed as he wrapped Arthur’s coat back around him to keep some of the wind off the man’s trembling form. “We’ll get you fixed up.”

 

Arthur gave a grunt of protest when Eames hoisted the man carefully into his arms, cradling Arthur’s body close to his own. Eames allowed a small smile when Arthur allowed his head to rest against Eames’ arm softly, uncaring of the blood getting on his coat as he stepped over their fallen opponents. Eames grappled at Arthur’s car door until he got it open, helping Arthur slip into the back seat where he could lie down. Arthur gave a protesting whine when the warmth of Eames’ body was removed, but Eames had no choice but to disappear to the driver’s seat, unwilling to waste time.

 

Eames drove the car as far over the speed limit as he dared, fearful of late night police patrols and hidden ice on the roads. Luckily his tiny flat wasn’t too far away and he was soon parking the car, pulling the keys out of the ignition and hopping out of the car. When he opened the back door his stomach did a sickening little flip flop when he noticed Arthur sprawled out on the cushions, unmoving and blood ruining the upholstery. But then he saw Arthur’s chest rising and falling slowly, the man unconscious but still breathing normally.

 

He rushed up the three icy steps leading to his door, his flat on the first floor of the three-story townhouse. He pushed his key into the lock and flung the door open quickly before hurrying back to Arthur’s side, awkwardly pulling him out of the car while trying to avoid jostling him. Eames got the man back into his arms, holding him close as he kicked the car door closed, stepped into his flat and kicked that door closed as well.

 

Eames made a beeline for his bedroom and settled Arthur down on top of his rumpled old duvet carefully. He kicked off his shoes and flung his coat to the floor mindlessly, only removing enough clothing to get the chill off his own body before focusing on Arthur. Eames bit his lip in indecision for a moment, feeling suddenly shy and out of place. He pulled Arthur’s shoes and coat off carefully, adding them to the sopping wet pile on the tiled floor of the bathroom before shaking the man’s shoulder hesitantly.

 

Arthur gave a little mumble and then blinked his eyes open, his eyelids drooping tiredly. Eames watched the other man glance around the room as he collected a change of clothes from his dresser, returning to the bedside quickly. “Where are we?” Arthur asked curiously, taking in the details of the room while putting pressure against his stomach wound with his arm once more.

 

“My bedroom,” Eames supplied, feeling ridiculously nervous. He silently chided himself and remembered that they had more important things to worry about in that moment. “I need you to undress.”

 

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you have asked me on a date first?”

 

“I did.” Eames gave a shaky smile, trying to hide his hurt at the memory. “You turned me down.”

 

Arthur grunted. “Seems kind of silly of me now, doesn’t it? I could have at least gotten a dinner out of you before I ended up here.”

 

Eames would have taken offence but he saw the tiny, playful curl of lips on the other man’s face. He swallowed down the sharp pain in his heart and gave a weary sigh. “You need to change into some clothing that isn’t soaking wet,” he prompted the other man, holding up the extra set of clothes in demonstration. “And if you don’t do it yourself, I will.”

 

He noticed the blush taking over Arthur’s face and found himself slightly stunned at the view. Eames had never even seen Arthur blush before – not counting the flush that would stain his cheeks after a little too much alcohol – and it was startling to see Arthur blush for him. He wasn’t sure if it was discomfort over the current situation or embarrassment over appearing weak, but Eames did his best to avoid it either way to keep Arthur from feeling more uncomfortable. “I’ll do it.” Arthur took the offered clothing and gave him a pointed look, sending Eames trudging out of the room.

 

While Arthur was busy, Eames rung up Yusuf to give him an update, which he knew would be passed along to Dom and the others. Then he braved the winter chill one more time to bring the crates of alcohol the other men had tried to steal into his house, hiding them beneath the floorboards of his front hall closet. He grabbed his medical kit from the bathroom and hung up their coats to drip dry in the tub, knowing they would either need to be dry cleaned or chucked out with the blood but not wanting a further mess.

 

When he gave a hesitant knock on the closed bedroom door a few minutes later, Eames heard a quiet “come in.” He pushed the door open and froze in the doorframe, taking in the sight in front of him greedily. Arthur was sprawled out on his bed, half swallowed up by the fluffy duvet, in Eames’ loose sweatpants and shirtless. The other man was holding his own ruined shirt against his stomach to keep the blood from dribbling onto Eames’ duvet, with Eames’ offered shirt placed on the pillows to be put on after Arthur’s wounds were dealt with.

 

“You trust me to do this, darling?” Eames asked carefully as he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the med kit open. Being involved in an illegal profession generally prompted you to learn quite quickly how to effectively deal with minor and moderately serious wounds, as well as how to stave off serious injuries until it was safe to go to a hospital. But just because he had the knowledge to do this didn’t mean Arthur would be comfortable with it.

 

Arthur surprised him though by giving him a tight smile and a nod. “Of course.” Their eyes met and held for a long moment before Arthur glanced away, staring at the wall as Eames pulled out the necessary materials.

 

Eames worked diligently, disinfecting the small scrapes and the cut on Arthur’s body before pulling out a needle and a lighter to sterilize the tip. “I don’t have anything for the pain,” Eames said regretfully as he prepared the needle, watching Arthur’s sharp brown eyes watch him nervously.

 

He saw Arthur swallow thickly before nodding again. “It’s okay.” 

 

“Arthur...”

 

“I’ll be okay,” Arthur said again, clenching his eyes closed and taking a deep breath.

 

The only other option was for them to go to a hospital so Eames bit his lip and moved Arthur’s hand and bunched up shirt aside to expose the wound. The bleeding had already slowed and the blade’s cut was not deep enough to cause internal injury, but they couldn’t leave it gaping open. Eames brushed another sterilizing wipe across the skin, trying to ignore Arthur’s hiss at the sting, and then slipped the needle into pale skin. It didn’t take many stitches and his movements were efficient and precise, work almost as good as a professional’s from practice.

 

When he was finished he wrapped a bandage around Arthur to catch any remaining bleeding and keep the stitches from catching in the fabric of bed sheets or shirts. Eames helped Arthur slip into his borrowed shirt carefully, knowing the man would grow cold in the winter night even with the blankets if he did not have something over his shoulders. He noticed that Arthur’s cheeks were wet with tears and before he thought about it, Eames swiped the pad of his thumb over Arthur’s cheeks, brushing the tears aside. Arthur’s gaze met his own, brown holding blue uncertainly.

 

Eames forced himself to pull away, movements jerky with his conflicting embarrassment and desire to never ever leave Arthur’s side. “I’ll uh...” he trailed off, worried Arthur would yell at him for the close contact. “I’ll just grab a blanket and sleep out on the sofa.”

 

He pulled himself off the bed and made for the door but stilled immediately when he heard the sheets rustle. “Eames...?”

 

Eames spun on his heel and watched as Arthur carefully slipped beneath the blankets on Eames’ bed, only his head visible past the duvet as it rested on a mountain of pillows. “Yeah?” Eames asked, unsure, finding it a little hard to breathe.

 

“Would you...” Arthur paused and took a calming breath, keeping their eyes locked purposefully. “Would you stay with me tonight?”

 

Eames’ brain short-circuited. “...What?”

 

“I just...” Arthur trailed off again and then gave an annoyed huff, no doubt frustrated with his own indecision. “It’s cold.”

 

“I could get you more blankets from the closet,” Eames offered. He was too scared to hope that Arthur might mean more with his words. He needed to hear it for himself, to know without a doubt what Arthur wanted. Eames thought Arthur despised him, or at least couldn’t stand him. Eames had made the attempt to ask Arthur out, deciding he didn’t want to waste his life wondering, but had received a blatant rejection. He had been wounded by Arthur’s sharp refusal, figuring that was his last chance. But now Arthur was blushing again, fingers fiddling with the frayed edges of Eames’ duvet.

 

Arthur sighed in anxious agitation. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. I want to feel your arms around me and know I’m safe.”

 

“Oh darling,” Eames hummed softly, feeling his heart flutter as he flicked off the overhead light and stood by the edge of the bed. Without any protests from Arthur he slipped under the covers, coming to rest on his side facing the other man. It felt so intimate just being under the same blankets as Arthur, feeling the warmth of their bodies mingle and build beneath the fabric. Arthur’s foot brushed Eames’ ankle and Eames reached out tentatively to run his fingers down the smooth skin of Arthur’s arm. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

 

“I do,” Arthur confessed seriously. Eames felt the other man’s hand reach forward to brush across Eames’ chest, fingers dancing over his heartbeat. Eames didn’t know what to make of that statement and touch, wondering if Arthur felt the same or if he was merely acknowledging Eames’ feelings. But he couldn’t bear to ask the question then, in the comfortable quiet of his bedroom as they lay in bed together.

 

A minute later Arthur gave a tired yawn and shuffled closer, coming to rest on his stomach but with one leg half hitched over Eames’ own for an angle to keep his wounded stomach from pressing into the mattress. Arthur’s head came to rest on Eames’ chest, cheek pressed against Eames’ shirt and loose, damp hair falling everywhere. Eames felt the other man’s arms carefully wind around his shoulders, holding onto him like he might fall away.

 

Eames, remembering Arthur’s request, cautiously lifted his own arms to encircle the other man. One arm wound around Arthur’s upper back, which meant Eames could feel Arthur’s shoulder blades shift each time he squirmed to get comfortable. His other arm rested in the dip of Arthur’s lower back, pulling their bodies closer together and relishing in the sensation and warmth. “Eames...?” Arthur whispered into the quiet air, causing Eames to freeze. Had he gone too far?

 

“Yeah?” he breathed nervously, lifting his head off the pillows to regard the other man.

 

Arthur lifted his own head from Eames’ chest and leaned up slightly to press their lips together hurriedly in the darkness. Eames let out a desperate, grateful moan at the contact, tilting his head slightly so that their lips locked together. Arthur’s arms hooked around his shoulders and neck tightened slightly as Arthur pressed closer, and Eames held Arthur as close as he dared without hurting the injured man.

 

After a long, blissful moment, Arthur pulled away. Eames’ lips were tingling with the phantom weight of Arthur’s lips on his own, and he met Arthur’s eyes in the near-darkness hopefully. “I feel the same,” Arthur confessed shyly, tenderly.

 

“I’m glad,” Eames whispered honestly, relieved. They met for another chaste kiss in the safe, comfortable silence of Eames’ bedroom, holding one another close beneath the blankets. Then Arthur pulled away, yawning again, and pillowed his head on Eames’ chest again.

 

A content silence fell around them and Eames spent a few minutes rubbing soothing circles into Arthur’s back, loving the way the man shivered pleasantly against him. Eventually Eames felt Arthur’s breath even out and slow against him, the other man slipping away into a relaxed sleep. Eames stole another few minutes alone with Arthur against him, memorizing the feel even though it now appeared that this would not be his only opportunity. With that final thought in mind Eames allowed himself to slip into his own blissful sleep, a smile on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on: [Tumblr](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/), [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/onewhositswiththeturtles), or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/owswtt)


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